Caught
by JessicaJ
Summary: Tifa's decision to purchase the old mansion had not been an easy one. Looking for a new start and something to occupy herself, she embarks on a somewhat ordinary journey... Until an accident with Time materia, that is. M
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Somewhere in-between**

Will more than chance had brought her here this time, into the old ruins of the Shin-Ra mansion. She was surprised that now, 5 years after meteor, still nobody had ventured to claim it, and restore it to its former glory. She couldn't quite estimate the number of years that it had stood neglected, but by no means empty. She had come prepared for such encounters with its modern day inhabitants; her plethora of mastered materia gave her an unnatural buzz, almost a glow, as she traversed the building through the gloom, ducking under broken beams and avoiding holes in the floor, her premium hearts creaking at her knuckles.

This was going to be one hell of a project alright, but she figured she had nothing else to occupy her time; She may make some money out of it, at least, if nothing else were to be gained. She was going to renovate the place, or at least give it a good go. It was either that, or go crazy living in Edge with Cloud and the children.

More specifically Cloud.

It had gotten too much; living in constant fear of upsetting the kind of awkward equilibrium they had settled into. She didn't want to tell him how she felt, for she feared the answer, and her insecurities about how he felt about her were slowly driving her mad. She wasn't getting any younger, than was for sure, and at twenty five, she'd about had it tip-toeing around him. One morning, after the kids had left for school, and before Cloud himself left for a delivery, she finally worked up the courage to tell him she was leaving. He hadn't even seemed confused; just gave a curt nod, and quietly inquired about the children. Of course, she should have known that he wouldn't have volunteered himself to stop the whole courier charade and take the responsibility; they both knew he didn't need the money. It was just the 'being alone' aspect that she knew he could never give up.

She told him that Barrett had always made it known to her that he could take care of the children, if she wanted a break, and not to worry his pretty little head about such things. Perhaps she had imagines it, but he had smiled softly, before leaving the bar.

In the days that followed, she didn't realise just how angry his nonchalance had made her; not until, at least, she had started to break dishes for an outlet. She announced she was leaving, after five years of relative silence, and that was all he had to say about it? Not even _one fucking_ question as to why, or to check if she was alright? She doubted he was even curious.

It made her feel sick to the stomach, actually. She suddenly realised that her decision would probably be the best one she had made for a long time. She needed to do something for herself. She needed to be alone for a while to think about what she wanted to do for rest of her life, because frankly, she didn't really want to be alone forever.

Cloud wasn't going to budge, and she didn't have the strength to make him. Part of her knew that even if she did confess her feelings, and all the she hoped for came true, it would never make her happy. She would always know she had been second. She would always know that it wasn't what he wanted.

So here she was, in Nibelheim, her satchel full of her savings and what few clothes and precious possessions she owned, ready to make a start on _making_ a new start; Her plan hadn't quite formulated yet.

She finally emerged into the main hallway, sneezing and spluttering after running into a moth-eaten curtain. The weak sunlight filtered in through the grimy stain glass windows, dust motes dancing on the sunbeams. At the sound of metallic clanking and a whining creak, she realised her first task was going to begin at once; the place needed emptying of monsters.

A Ghirofelgo. Perhaps one of the strangest monsters she had come across. A figure of a blonde-haired man, riding on a giant axe. A man that had no legs. Jesus, they really creeped her out, but she was lucky in that all of the monsters here were pretty low level. She'd long surpassed them in her ability, and she wasn't that worried. Still, she had to perform a mad dive to avoid being hacked in half by the afore mentioned man-riding-a-giant-axe, cursing at the splinters she'd acquired in her knees as a result.

Staggering to her feet and temporarily abandoning her pack, she readied herself for the next assault. In the gloomy light of the hall it was difficult to make out where her attacker was hidden. The grand hall and staircase was an amalgamation of shadows and light beams, the latter only serving to hinder her eyes probing into the darkness. The house shifted and groaned around her, making it impossible to pinpoint a particular sound, one that might have been made by her quarry. Her ears and eyes were strained for any sign of movement as she began treading small circles in the grand hall, in an effort to map the whole room. The silence dragged on, though the sense of being watched did not cease, setting the hairs on the back of her neck on end, tingling in anticipation.

Damn it, since when had monsters gotten so sneaky?

There! Her head snapped towards the ceiling, a space above and between the two windows, where the intruding light beams would have sheltered it from view. Its height gave it the advantage of gaining astounding speed on its downward arc, and she barely had time to register its presence before the monster was on a deadly path to cut her asunder. In a flash she raised her arm and fired off the first spell she could think of.

The green glow of the materia surrounded her, her hair whirling around her as the magic began to work. Time materia; if she could stop it in its tracks, she could assimilate herself and perform one fatal attack to finish it off.

Though perhaps its deadly down stroke was coming toward her too quickly for the spell to take hold in time. She only registered that irony as she raised her arms in defence. Time seemed to be slowing, yet not near quickly enough; she could make out the gleam of the immense blade, reflecting the coloured light patches, forming a magnificent but deadly fractal.

The point connected with the orb of materia, still aglow within premium hearts, and for a second, she thought that the magic had worked. Everything seemed to freeze, as it should if the magic had been cast correctly.

Yet, something did not feel quite right.

Her skin began to tingle, and it seemed to Tifa that the very air that surrounded her began to vibrate. She became abruptly aware of a gentle ringing in her ears, getting steadily louder. Her arm bearing the Time materia began to feel rather hot, and then without any warning, the materia exploded.

Shards of a glass-like substance shot out, tearing into her skin. Oddly, the outline of the materia remained, though it was no longer solid; instead it formed a smouldering, luminescent mass. It began to pulsate, before winding around her static limbs. A sort of dust, she inhaled it unwillingly, trying to blink it out of uncooperative eyes.

The ringing became louder now, almost unbearable. Her vision started to blur, and all colours and shadow became one before her.

A bang, and she was thrown backwards to the ground. Then everything went black.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next thing she knew, she was lying flat on her back, aware of several points on her body that throbbed and ached. Her vision seemed to be dominated by swirling lights and spots, though at least she could see colour. Yellow, burning red through her eyelids. Her throat felt raw, her lungs burned and aching. She coughed, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear her vision. Slowly, it returned to her, and she found herself lying exactly where she had presumably fallen moments ago.

Except everything was different.

The hallway was a wondrously bright and airy space. The chandelier glimmered in the burst of sunlight through the windows above her head, windows which were not missing panes, and were perfectly clean. Neither cobwebs nor ivy clung to the walls, walls which did not bear peeling paint and paper any longer. The hallway stood in all its glory exactly how it perhaps had been, long ago.

She began to wonder if she was dreaming, yet the return of the throbbing pains at various points of her body discredited that theory.

Then she heard footsteps.

Frowning and cursing, she managed to use a nearby wall to pull herself to her feet.

A tall man, wearing a navy blue suit came into view, emerging from one of the far doors that she knew to be the kitchen. The door, she noted, was not hanging off of its hinges. His gaze fell upon her, his expression undergoing a series of rapid changes. Confusion and shock foremost, yet that was soon replaced by concern. She glanced down and noted her bleeding cuts.

"Excuse me, are you alright?" Now there was something familiar about that voice…. where had she heard it before? She struggled to prop herself up, aware of her complaining joints. "Miss? Can you hear me?" He took a few more steps closer, his shiny black shoes tapping loudly as he walked across the polished wooden floor. Since when had the floor been polished? Since when had she seen the floor of the mansion at all, for that matter?

"I…" He stopped in a shaft of light, bursting through one of the windows. Though he squinted, she could make out a flicker of ruby as his irises glimmered in the sun. His hair was the colour of midnight, framing an attractive, pale face with very straight, defined features. HIs navy suit was immaculate, and his shoes polished to perfection.

"How did you…" He took a step closer, and then stopped upon registering the shock on the strange woman's expression. Behind the dirt-streaks and cuts was a beautiful face framed by a mass of near-ebony waves, proud and confident. Yet now, he saw that confidence waver.

"Vincent? Is that you?" The man's mouth fell open, betraying his otherwise cool exterior.

"How do you know my name?"

….to be continued.

**A/N: This is supposed to be Dirge of Cerberus (Past) meets The Time Traveller's Wife (an excellent book, by Audrey Niffeneger). Let me know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 1 Friction

**Chapter 1: Friction**

A moment of tangible silence passed in which she tried to process the information currently whizzing around in her already battered head.

Vincent was here?

But it wasn't the Vincent she knew, that was for sure. He appeared much more youthful, absolved of all the troubles the present Vincent carried with him. Were it not for those unmistakable eyes and that deep, soft voice, she wouldn't have linked the man stood before her to the Vincent she knew. Or knew little about at least.

"I said how did you know my name?" He repeated his question, taking on a more defensive stance.

"I…" She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to process a sentence that could put across all that she felt right at that moment. "I know you."

He looked around cautiously, before striding purposely forward and gripping her elbow, steering her firmly into an unoccupied room. He kicked the door closed, before crossing his arms across his navy suit. "We've never had the pleasure of meeting before, I am saddened to inform you. Perhaps you have me mistaken, Miss…"

"I'm Tifa! I know you!- you're Vincent Valentine, Ex-Turk, and a mean shot."

"Two of those things are true, though I'm not sure you have your information correct. I am still a Turk."

"But…" She paused, rubbing at the sore spot at the back of her cranium, as though it perhaps would solve her predicament. "What year is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"What fucking year is it, Vincent!" She grabbed him roughly by the front of his blazer. Perhaps his confusion at the question prevented a more adverse reaction, for he simply answered;

"It is 1961. May the 5th."

"Holy fuck…" Her knees seemed to turn to jelly for a moment, and her ability to stay upright became somewhat compromised. With a vacant expression, she slid to her knees, allowing her mussed curtain of hair to fall around her. "How can this be real?"

"I don't understand, um…. Tifa." His lips caught on the syllables of her name, clearly not familiar with its use.

"I think… I think I have travelled back in time," She stated somewhat vacantly, resisting the urge to giggle at the ludicrousness of it all.

"Perhaps we should take you to the Doctor. He might be able to help."

"Doctor?"

"I'm assuming he might have some idea as to what's wrong with you; Dr Hojo is very well respected in his field."

She was up and on her feet in an instant, her turbulent emotions finally broiling to the surface. "FOr one, there is nothing wrong with me!- and I will not be examined by _that_…. _monster_ of a man!"

He stepped back defensively. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"This is… this is all wrong. I was just meant to be having some time to think… some time with myself…" She started to mumble, rubbing at her arms as though caught by a sudden chill. Unable to remain static, she crossed to the windows and gazed out over Nibelheim; still perfect, the real Nibelheim. She could see her house, though if the year was indeed correct, her parents were not yet living there. "This wasn't meant to happen…"

Vincent's former self approached her somewhat tentatively, perfect brows furrowed with concern and curiosity. "Perhaps a walk outside would… help? I can accompany you. You would get in trouble if you were discovered in here without an escort."

She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. "I suppose you're right."

Resigning herself for the moment, she allowed him to lead her to the front door of the mansion, which opened onto the then perfectly tended garden, with a neatly winding path. She chose to say nothing more until their seemingly random perambulations took them away from the mansion and the town-proper, and out into the outskirts. He finally stopped walking when underneath the shade of a beautiful blossom tree, not quite yet in bloom.

She threw herself down onto the grass, heaving a sigh that did little to alleviate the tension that was fixed within her muscles.

"What exactly do you have against Hojo, Tifa?"

Her head snapped up, amber eyes wrought with perplexion. Her mouth formed a thin line as she considered him, young and considerably naïve, in comparison to the Vincent of Avalanche. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Your future- What is going to happen to you, if you stay here in Nibelheim."

Dark lashes blinked before the ruby irises she had identified him by, though they lacked their mako glow. Slowly, he seated himself a considerate distance away beside her, his attention fully fixated upon her.

"My future?" He couldn't prevent the small cough of indignation.

"You… You haven't met Lucrecia yet?" She massaged her throat, which seemed to be threatening to close up in her distress. It felt strange saying her name aloud to him; she knew little about the woman, save only that Vincent had called her a beautiful lady, and that something had gone on between them. Exactly what their relationship entailed, she did not know. She knew very little about Vincent, now that she came to consider his past self before her.

"I… Dr Crescent is in the field I believe, collecting samples. She is due to arrive in town within the next few days. Why do you ask?"

No pained expression at the mention of her name; in fact nothing at all.

Vincent had not yet met Lucrecia.

He was not aware of the danger he was in.

"You have to get out of Nibelheim."

"Excuse me?" He blinked several times, coughing incredulously. "I have only just arrived to begin my assignment here. I cannot simply leave upon the request of a- a quick frankly- _crazy_ woman who thinks she has _time travelled_!"

"Vincent, please." She sat up on her heels, clasping her hands before her. "I know it sounds crazy, and that you don't believe a word I'm saying. I wouldn't in your position, but… You have to trust me, for your sake, and for Lucrecia's."

He scoffed again, shaking his head as he got to his feet, dusting down his suit of grass. "I don't have time for this." He started to walk away from her, back toward town, and the mansion that would eventually become his self-inflicted prison.

"No! You don't understand! There's so much more to it, I- " She halted, suddenly staring down the barrel of Vincent's sleek ebony pistol.

"That's quite enough, Madam. I have a job to do, and I have been kind enough, considering the circumstances in which I found you." His dark hair partly obscured one side of his face, though she did not doubt that he would miss at this range.

"But-"

"If I see you near the mansion, I'm afraid I will have to report you to security, and they may use force to remove you."

She swallowed, her fear for her own life totally overridden by her concern for Vincent's fate. "You're making a huge mistake…"

"I'll say this only once; stay away. Consider yourself warned." He cocked his weapon, satisfied at seeing her flinch before reholstering it. He turned away from her once more, striding across the grass. She only then noted how the birds were singing, and how beautiful the day was. Whatever happened to pathetic fallacy?

She had to try again. There was no way she could let this happen! In order for him to even listen she had to do one thing. "How could I prove it to you?" She called after him, not moving from beneath the shade of the blossom tree. He half-pivoted on his heel, shielding his eyes from the sun, directly in his line of vision.

"You can't. Because it's not true."

He was probably right, in the first instance; for what did she know about Vincent that she could use to help him believe her? Nothing. Not a scrap of definitive information that could prove to him that she really did know him, or at least, a shadow of what he once was, the shadow that he would no doubt become, if she were to fail.

"I… I promise you, if you stay here, it will be the end of you. Or at least, your humanity."

He had started to walk away again, seeing himself victorious in their battle of logic. He only stalled briefly before muttering something to himself, and continuing on back toward the mansion.

Defeated and frustrated, Tifa was at loss. What was she to do? Surely this could not be real; she had been transported to the exact same spot in space, but 35 years into the past? How could this be possible.

The time materia; it had smashed into a thousand tiny glass shards, and the strange dust that remained had engulfed her. It had somehow caused this strange hiccup in the time-space continuum.

Her burst of spasmodic laughter was probably audible to Vincent, now already at the mansion gates, serving most likely to confirm her suspected madness. What the hell was she even thinking? Time-space continuum? She knew what Cid would have to say about that, and it was three words, two of which were 'what the'. Yet, it was the only explanation.

There was no way this was a dream.

The Vincent she had encountered had been real; A Vincent before the cape, and the triple-barrel shotgun. The Vincent who had not yet locked himself away for thirty years as a means of punishment for his self-proclaimed sins. A Vincent who had not yet even met the woman who would ultimately lead to his downfall, and his loss of humanity, by implanting his body with the being, Chaos.

A Vincent who hadn't fallen in love with someone else's girl, and tried to stop her from using her baby in an experiment which would eventually doom the planet.

Gods, her head was starting to hurt.

Setting off in no particular direction, she tried to make sense of it all. What was she going to do? Was she stuck here forever? Or was it just a temporary glitch? Would she be able to return back to her present?

Her wanderings brought her to the foyer of the old inn. Perhaps she could rent a room here for a couple of nights with the small wad of gil she had discovered in her pocket. She could use that time to think things over; perhaps find a way to make some more gil for the unforeseeable future. The future which was taking place in the past….

The female desk attendant gave her a warm smile, and inquired as to whether she would require a room.

"Um, yes. I only have this much gil though, so…" She unfurled the crumpled notes, tossing them down haphazardly on the counter. Surprisingly, the young clerk's eyes went wide.

"Certainly ma'am. How long would you be requiring room and board for?"

"Well, as long as I can get." She replied cautiously, unsure as to the origin of the attendants accommodating behaviour.

"We can only reserve a room for a maximum of two months, Ma'am. That's just 300gil." Tifa raised an eyebrow. She'd placed 1,200gil down on the counter.

"A room _and_ board, you say?"

"Yes," The young girl replied, giving a polite bow of the head.

"That will be fine." She placed down 400. "Keep the change."

The clerk's mouth opened and closed several times, before she could eventually pass her the room key and articulate, "Thank you very much. The last room on the right, Ma'am."

She took the stairs two at a time, her mind racing ahead of her. The room was very comfortable, with the décor that might once have been considered outdated being new and luxurious. Locking the door behind her, she seated herself on the large bed of what must have been the best room in the hotel.

So it seems the economy isn't quite as prosperous as it would no doubt become. ShinRa involvement in any town seemed to send priced rocketing sooner or later. She let herself fall back against the sheets, staring up at the fancy ceiling, huffing out a slow, deliberate breath.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

And how on earth was she going to get Vincent to listen to her? And even if she ever did manage to get him out of this, he would never fully understand that hell she had saved him from.

Then there was the not-so-unimportant issue of Sephiroth, yet to be conceived, and the experiments that would alter him permanently, and lead to his mother's untimely death, and Vincent's final involvement in the whole affair.

With two months in town, she'd no doubt have a long time to think about it.

She felt that perhaps she would have to pay a certain Dr Crescent a visit in the near future. Shiva knows, she had to try and make _someone_ believe her. She only hoped she would be able to deter the scientists' curiosity away from herself. She didn't quite fancy the idea of being a subject herself, even if it were in Vincent's best interests.

And from what she knew about Chaos, she might just succeed in getting Lucrecia's attention… and diverting it from her other projects.

Hell, that could work!

Maybe she could try her damndest to focus Vincent's attentions upon herself, by all means necessary should her other plan fail. Gods, if only he knew what sort of crap she was considering putting herself through, just for him. In the five years that she had known him, they had barely even held a conversation, with the most recent of those being the longest. She knew so little about him, she found herself wishing she had endeavoured to find out before now, when so much depended upon it.

All of this worry had placed extra tension on her already battered body. Thankfully though, she had her full-cure handy to take care of it; the plethora of cuts caused by the shattered materia were already starting to heal, courtesy of her enhanced healing efficiency. Stints in the life stream had to have their benefits, she supposed. Raising her arm above her, she readied herself to cast full-cure, the green glow starting to swirl about her and illuminate the shade of the room.

Then she noted the ringing in her ears again.

"Holy shit!" Then her vision began to blur once more, the colours and shapes in the room amalgamating into one, before everything turned black.

…. to be continued.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**Shorter, snappier chapters will help the story flow better, I hope. Please leave me a review, it's been great hearing how excited time travel has made you lot. I hope it does not dissappoint.**


	3. Chapter 2 Vincent version 3

**Chapter 2: Vincent version 3.0**

Prostrate on her back like this, she could see through the holes in the roof offering her a panoramic view of the blue skies above. Groaning at the stiffness in her limbs, she dared not move for a moment, instead wondering why the hell she could see the clouds. Wasn't she in the inn a moment ago?

Her muscles screamed in protest as she tried to jerk upright. Had she travelled again?

Looking around, she was indeed in the same place, just not the same time. The inn was derelict, or disused, perhaps it had been in a fire recently. She could smell smoke soaked in the fabric of the musty bed sheets.

"Tifa?"

She turned her head at the call of her name, mouth falling open as she registered the man now stood in the door way. His hair was greying-black, shot through with streaks of cobalt-silver, his form refined and straight in his long grey overcoat. Yet there was no mistaking those eyes. "Vin—Vincent?" She tried to move, though her muscles seemed set against her still.

"Hush—don't try to move." He stepped forward out of the gloom and into the shaft of daylight penetrating the hole in the ceiling above her. "You've been through a lot today, am I correct?"

As he bent over her, the truth sank in. Vincent had aged. At least forty- he had to be; though the same grace and beauty possessed his features, in fact enhanced by the beautiful silver of his hair and his refined state of dress. So little had changed, and yet his gentle demeanour and fond expression could not have been farther from the Vincent's she had met so far.

"How… This is the future?" Her head was starting to hurt. Present Vincent had been long out of sight and mind, yet in one day she had encountered both versions of himself, past and future.

"I cannot say. All I can tell you is that you are going back soon. Our time together here is limited."

Something in the way he said 'together', and the gentle way he took her hand set the wheels in her head turning. What the hell was going to happen? _What did he know_? "I don't understand…" Her voice became a strangled whisper as pent up frustration and confusion started to get the better of her. Her throat burned, her mind and limbs exhausted from her encounters over the short space of time that seemed to span decades.

He hushed her, seating himself upon the edge of the bed, brushing back hair from her face. "I know, but it'll be alright." Her tears moistened his smooth palm as he cupped her cheek. "I promise everything will be alright."

"You-you're… older." She hiccoughed a little, reaching up a weary hand to trace the creases at the edges of his eyes and the delicate frown lines across his forehead. He laughed warmly, bowing his head a little. Her fingers became lost in his silvering hair, somewhat shorter than she remembered.

"That's one way to put it."

Her ears started to ring, inducing her panic once more. For how long could she continue like this, hopping through time, back and forth? "Vincent, it's happening again! Please make it stop." She clutched onto his coat, burying her face in the thick fabric as thought it might act as her anchor.

"I'm sorry Tifa," He whispered thickly, though she dared not look to check if there were tears in those ruby eyes. "Just remember to stay strong. Don't give up."

"What if I'm not strong?" She choked, squeezing her eyes shut tight, trying to ignore the light dancing behind her lids.

"You will be, because… Tifa, you succeed. Nibel was saved."

"Wha… what?" She pulled away to gaze into his face, though it did little good. The lights were near-blinding her now.

"Tifa… I…"

His words were drowned out by the now sonorous pealing of invisible bells, and moments later she was gone, leaving Vincent clutching nothing but air, in the derelict Nibel inn.

…to be continued.

**A/N: Just a short one, a teaser if you will. I've really stepped up my writing, I've sort of vowed to myself that I have to finished ALL of my unfinished stories in a year. Something like that anyway. Please REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 3 A Distant Memory

**Chapter 3: A distant memory**

A week had passed so far into his assignment, one whole week since the sudden arrival of that strange woman and her even stranger warnings…

…and a week since her apparent disappearance.

He had been curious, if not anything else.

Upon his return into the apparently inaccessible high-security building that was the ShinRa mansion, he had begun his own investigations as to how exactly she had gotten inside; anything to discredit her crazy theories, and to prove to himself that his instincts and logic were well intact. He was only left frustrated however to discover that there was no apparent way she could have entered save for the front door, which was locked. In fact, he had _only just_ left the hallway before he had heard that sudden disturbance in the hall. He had found her then, bloodied and marred, blinking in the piercing daylight.

More vexing still was the revelation that although he had seen her enter the town's local inn, she had not exited it for several days. Idleness being his main motivation, he had chosen to investigate her whereabouts.

The inn's clerk was obviously concerned; apparently she had not been receiving any meals from outside her door, and had apparently remained locked within for four days straight. He volunteered himself to investigate, and upon receiving the go-ahead from the inn keeper, attempted to open up the door with the master key, mind and body braced for the worst.

The door would not budge; the key was still lodged in the lock upon the other side. Brute force was the only solution.

His wildest imaginings had produced grotesque images of her, dead or worse, as he set to kicking down the wooden door. Madness had driven her to suicide perhaps, or something more supernatural than that, if he allowed his imagination to stretch to such lengths. He expected to find her prostrate in a pool of her own blood, or perhaps drowned in the bathroom.

The door creaked and groaned, the hinges buckling eventually to admit him.

His lungs ached from too-long bated breath, yet his short search of the room came up empty. Everything looked untouched, even the bed sheets were still made neatly as they would have been found upon arrival.

The clerk didn't understand it. The door had clearly been locked from the inside. The windows were locked from within. The woman named Tifa had almost certainly entered this room.

Yet she could not have left it either.

So where was she?

Still, three days on, he did not know the answer. Lying awake in a bed in the same establishment, he could not help but feel unnerved, knowing that a woman had vanished into thin air not a short distance away.

_I… I promise you, if you stay here, it will be the end of you. Or at least, your humanity._

What did it all mean? What did she know, or what had she seen?

At first, he dared not mention her arrival and disappearance to anyone. Yet as the days passed, a sense of responsibility began to gnaw away at his conscience. As each idle hour passed in the mansion, he could be searching for her, try to get some more answers. Answers to questions he had begun to accrue in his hours of restlessness.

Sighing heavily, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, running his hands over his face. He was losing way too much sleep over this. He needed to know what the hell was going on, and put it to rest. He couldn't afford to let it affect his work.

Though there was something there in the back of his mind that ached with familiarity. He stood on weary legs and crossed to his desk, upon which lay his leather bound journal. He flicked through the pages before he came to the sleeve at the back where he kept letters of scraps of paper that held some importance or another. Rifling through with a fearful sensation that it would be gone after all these years, he came to it at last. Old and tattered, yet there it was, a folded piece of paper that had never held any meaning, bearing a single word written in blue crayon on the outside half: Vincent.

_. . . . . . . . . break . . . . . . . .._

The little boy was running as fast as his short, scratched legs could carry him through the tall grasses, fists full of crayons and paper, breaths coming in loud short bursts. The sun glared overhead and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair, barely strong enough to shift the few lazy clouds that dotted the bright blue sky. He stopped upon reaching his apparent destination, flopping to the ground upon a woollen blanket laid out beneath the shade of a large oak tree. His stocks of crayons replenished, he set to completing one of his random scrawls.

Rather suddenly, the tranquillity of the summer day was disturbed as a strange ringing sound rippled over the breeze, setting the hairs upon his arms on end. Raising his head from his pictures, he noted that where only grass and flowers had been before, there now lay a woman in a white dress, gazing up at the sky.

It took a while before she deemed it necessary to move, and it was only as she sat up that she noticed him, small and wide-eyed, staring back at her.

"Hello." She said, smiling softly in recognition.

"Hi," he whispered breathlessly in reply, for he was certain that he had never seen a thing as beautiful in his life. His mind jumped to the pictures in his story books of fairies and princesses, with her flowing brown hair and pale flawless skin. Her feet were bare, and the very air around her seemed to be sparkling.

"I didn't scare you did I?" She asked, getting shakily to her feet.

He shook his head resolutely, black hair falling into his eyes as it always did. Eyes that were the colour of crushed grapes. "I'm not scared of anything," He told the lady proudly, crossing his small arms across his chest.

"Of course not," She laughed a little, before stepping forwards, a hand outstretched to him. "I want to give you something, and I need you to keep it very safe. Can you do that?"

Again he nodded, lips pulled into a firm line as he fixed all of his attention upon her, eager for his special task. "It's very important; may I lend a crayon, please?" He complied, passing her a blue one, his favourite colour of them all. She used it to scrawl something upon a folded sheet of paper, pressed tightly in her hand.

"Here you go. Now be good, and keep it safe." She placed it into his expectant palms, before she bent to place a gentle kiss upon his hair.

"I will, lady."

She gave him one last fond smile, before she turned away. He didn't look at the paper she had pressed into his hand yet, instead watching her intently as she passed into the distance, her fingertips trailing along the surface of the grass as it danced in the breeze. It seemed he blinked, and then she was gone, leaving only space behind. Setting off at a run, he tried to follow, and though he ran and ran until he reached the river's edge, a mile away from the village, he never saw her again.

**A/N:**

**I have received some reviews which sort of made me feel as though I was in trouble, or at least would be if I got facts wrong about time travel. For one, Time Travel is theoretically possible, yet physically, probably not. If Tifa in any way were to jeapordise her own existence in the future, then she would never have been able to exist at all. **

**Time travel is full of paradoxes, I know that. But its only fiction, guys. This story is my creative playground, and I can do whatever the hell I want. If you like it, great, if not, well, don't read any more.**

**I've had to start writing things in the chapter breaks otherwise the site excludes them. Sorry if it's made reading difficult**!


	5. Chapter 4 Trigger Point

_Sorry for the repost, I needed to edit it here and there, and add in this little verse from a song._

Your words remain trapped in front of this girl who asks for nothing  
>But to be loved by you<br>But you, you don't know how to handle it  
>Your throat tightens, and your heart beats even harder<br>While your eyes are on her

_(English Translation of Francis by Couer De Pirate)_

4: Trigger point

Despite the outward grandeur the mansion so proudly exhibited, he could not help but be perturbed by the basement. The echo of his footfalls were amplified and distorted, giving the impression one was being followed. The air was damp, cooler somehow; moisture clung to his breath.

Even more lingering still than the haunting feeling and the damp air were the warnings that the strange woman named Tifa had given him. He subconsciously raised a hand to his chest, resting over the interior pocket where he had placed the folded piece of paper that morning. So far, his duties (still so blindly carried out) had not kept him busy. He found himself idle for hours at a time, tapping his foot and yawning, trying his best not to pay too much attention to the strange vials and the even stranger titles that adorned the spines of the leather-bound journals in the laboratory library. He figured he may as well make use of his hours of idleness, and try and make some sense out of it all; in particular that sheet of paper he had kept for all these years without really knowing why.

If he really concentrated, he could recall the memory relatively clearly. It had been a beautiful sunny day, typical of many a Kalm summer in his youth. He had been left to his own devices, to roam the countryside alone or sometimes with a companion or two from his village. On that rather significant occurrence he had been alone. She had found him, given him that sheet of paper covered from top to bottom on both sides with a seemingly senseless scrawl of numbers.

Why had he never given it any consideration before now?

He remembered the moment he had arrived home that day from the fields, his crayons and drawings forgotten, he had found his best interpretation of a safe place; emptying out his metal crayon tin onto his bedroom floor, much to his mother's chagrin, and stashing it in the bottom of his toy box. As the years had passed by, he still held onto it, folding it with great care and pressing it into the back of journals, never careless enough to leave it in plain sight.

How had she known him?

Unless…

Abruptly he abandoned his position, striding forwards and taking a seat at an abandoned desk. He brushed scrawled experiment notes aside, reaching into his pocket to withdraw the sacred paper. Unfolding it with great care, he laid it out on the table.

It was unclear where the list of numbers began, yet after pouring over it as though for the first time, he realised something he had never noticed before. They were dates, listed in chronological order, or at least on one side; the other side of the sheet abandoned any sort of order. They jumped days, weeks, and sometimes years apart from the previous date, as well as from tis corresponding date on the left column.

Perhaps in an attempt to detract from confusion to the jumble of dates, letters and notes, the dates on the left were numbered sequentially (even though the dates were already in chronological order), whereas the dates on the right were numbered in a shuffled order, a few scribbled out here and there as the writer had made the occasional mistake.

In the centre was a list of places, apparently linking the two unrelated and separate dates in time. His blood ran cold. Could this be…?

There it was. Numbered as '1' on the right, and the number '2' on the left, was a date not a week ago, listed as occurring in Nibelheim. The corresponding date was one not years in the future, but decades.

So, it was true, then?

"What are you doing, Turk?"

He almost tripped over his own feet as he stood and turned to address the lab-coated female who had just entered the room. She was smiling, arms crossed as she tapped her heeled foot, her long near-golden hair swishing as she turned her head to consider him.

"A little independent research, Ma'am."

"At ease, I was just teasing," her green eyes sparkled. "Dr Crescent. Lucrecia Crescent." She outstretched a small, pale hand.

"Agent Vincent Valentine," He replied with a dry mouth, shaking her hand only briefly before releasing it. Could Tifa really be right about her? "Excuse me, madam."

He stepped around her, not noticing her sudden shift in expression as he turned his back, exiting the lab with hurried strides.

He needed to find her, wherever or whenever she was.

He had questions.

-0-

It was dark out. She was standing in the central square of Nibelheim, feeling rather disorientated. Her senses began to tune themselves into her environment, stood shivering in the darkness. Her skin was being pelted by a torrential onslaught from above. She was soaked in an instant, icy rain drops carving their way down the curvature of her spine and dripping form the ends of her hair.

Had she gone back, either to her present (where she _should_ be), or to Vincent's; and at which point?

And more predominantly, _why_ did she seem to have a link with him, a link which would seem to transcend space and time? They had never been particularly close in her present. She knew so little about him after all, had rarely shared space or conversation with him save for when it was necessary along their journey. So why Vincent? What was the connection, if any at all?

She had long since abandoned the notion that this was all a bad dream. Clinging onto that idea as an explanation throughout the majority of the meteor Crisis had done little to ease any suffering; and even before that, when she realised that Sephiroth was hell-bent on destroying the planet; even earlier still, when her home town stood burning before her. She had long since learned that reality was harsh and cruel. It was all she could do to defy it, and make the best of things.

She came to realise she was shivering violently; the air temperature suggested it was either late autumn or early spring, though the lack of a musky scent on the air led her to believe the latter. The scent of decaying maple leaves would have given it away as autumn, and now, the bite of the cool mountain air was all that gave taste to the chill.

A quick survey told her that this was Nibel prior to the fire. No amount of painstaking replication could have made the cobbles underfoot so uneven to walk across. As a child she had tripped many times, grazing her knees, or scuffing her new shoes. She had to give ShinRa credit, though. It had almost fooled her into believing it _had_ all been a nightmare, until she looked a little closer.

She jogged across the square, finding she was drawn toward her old house. Who would she find there, if she knocked upon the door? Her mother and father, or the family who lived their previously? She recalled their faces from old black and white stills she had stumbled upon, in her explorations of the attic.

She didn't need to knock upon the door to find out though, it seemed. The residents had left out a newspaper upon the doorstep, sodden from the onslaught from above. Fingers trembling, she reached out to grasp it, blinking raindrops out of her eyes so she could read the date. A date roughly two years on from her first hiccough through time.

She let the newspaper drop back onto the step with a _squelch_, turning her attention towards the mansion. All the lights were extinct, save for one ground floor section of the house. The warm amber glow served only to remind her of how soaked she was, stood shivering in the dead of night. She should try and find Vincent, if he were still here. She swallowed down a lump of trepidation. If he hadn't listened to her then she knew exactly where he would be. But if he had… He would be in his early thirties. Demon-less and cap- less still.

She set off at a sprint across town, slipping through the front gate to the mansion grounds, stood open as though it expected her arrival. With more caution, she left the winding path that would lead her to the front door, instead creeping through the untended garden toward the lit window. Upon reaching it, she could pick out raised voices over the pitter-patter of raindrops upon the window panes. One voice belonged to a man, who she realised with relief was Vincent, and the other to a woman. The answer to her unspoken question came soon enough.

"… Lucrecia, we've been through this…" She squinted carefully, peeking through a gap in the curtains. Vincent was pacing, Lucrecia seated upon the edge of an armchair with her forehead in her palm.

"I _need_ to see her, Vincent. If I can only get some information from her, ask a few questions, even run a few tests, I can _help_ her! This work you have me doing currently is getting us nowhere!"

"You're not considering the risks, Lucrecia!" He articulated, turning abruptly towards the window. Tifa ducked out of sight with bated breath, ears strained, her heart pounding in her chest like a jackhammer.

"I understand the risks well enough, Vincent," Her tone was almost sour. "You risk losing her, or losing track of her, at least. But what you fail to realise is… Oh, I can't bear talking with you when you are angry. You don't listen. When you are in better spirits I will give you some of my theorised papers. Until then, you know where to find me." Heels clicked loudly on the wooden floor. A door opened.

"Wait! I'm sorry… I'm just… there was a date on the list, and it was today. I… She hasn't come."

"Sometimes I swear you forget I have a copy of that list too. There's still ten minutes before midnight Vincent." Lucrecia sounded resigned. "And… she _is_ here." The voice came closer to her hiding place.

Tifa froze suddenly from her place crouched under the window. "_What_?"

"I'll go and fetch her… I… I saw her outside, I think."

She barely had enough time to scramble to her feet and scurry towards the path before the curtains were thrown open. Light bled out into the night, Vincent's silhouette suddenly black in the window. The heavy wooden door was pushed open, and Tifa came face to face with Lucrecia for the first time.

"Tifa, it is so good to meet you at last." Tifa blinked in the sudden burst of light from within, struggling to adjust. "Come in, you're soaked to the skin!" Acceding to that at least, she ducked inside, sighing with relief as the door was closed to the night.

In the ambient glow of the chandeliers, Tifa could see how Vincent lost his heart to this woman all those years ago. She was stunning; intelligent grey-green eyes framed by long eyelashes, a sensuously curved mouth, lips pale against her skin. Her cheeks possessed a natural blush, with such narrow bone structure, so delicate and yet so strong. Tifa was speechless.

Compared to her, hair plastered to her face, standing in a dripping puddle on the floor that was beginning to grow by the second, Lucrecia was a goddess.

"I…"

"I'm sure we have much to discuss, you and I, but-" The scientist glanced towards a door stood open behind her. "I think Vincent wishes to see you." She ducked her head respectfully, before turning and walking deeper into the mansion.

"Wait!" Tifa's shout echoed into the bowels of the mansion. Lucrecia stalled, her long ponytail swinging. "What happened here? I've just jumped a year into the future, and I find you two alone in the mansion…"

Lucrecia's shoulders slumped a little, though she let a slow laugh out of her nose. "So much has happened. But of course… I… I will let Vincent explain it all." The click of her heels sounded once more as she vanished through a door to the far end of the entrance hall.

Sighing, Tifa turned and entered the room to her left, immediately greeted by the warmth of the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. Vincent's stature gave off no similar warmth. He stood rigid and tall, unmoving, still staring out of the window.

"Did I choose a bad time?" Tifa attempted to joke, her nervous laugh dying in the silence that followed her comment. Frowning, she took a step closer. Why the silent treatment all of a sudden? "Have I missed something?" She tried again. He must have detected the pain-tinged confusion in her voice, for he sighed heavily, otherwise strong shoulders sagging beneath some unknown burden. He looked a little older, and yet better for it, that familiar strong bone structure refining his more mature features.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, drawing attention to the shiny buttons that adorned the cuff of the heavy coat he wore. He was dressed as if he had been or was planning to go outside. A quick appraisal of the dampened leather of his shoes told her he must have been outside recently, perhaps prior to the rainfall, as tell-tale by his dry coat.

"Have you been searching for me?" She asked aloud, crossing her arms across her chest. The outside chill clung to her skin stubbornly, the goose bumps upon her flesh refusing to subside.

"I was." He spoke at last, though he did not move from his station at the window, his brow still furrowed. "I must apologise for this reception. I have had a most… testing few days."

"Have you really." The bitterness seeped into her voice unhindered. She couldn't stop it, but at least it seemed to stir something within _him_. He raised his head a little, turning to look upon her truly for the first time since her arrival. "Well in the past few hours—or whatever time unit you want—I've met you three times. So forgive me for being a little confused at your _reception_, considering that when we last met, you held me in your arms and told me everything would be alright."

His ague seemed to vanish totally, eyebrows now raised in evident surprise. A gentle blush dusted his well-defined cheekbones. "I'm…"

"Confused? Well, you should try being in my shoes."

She turned away abruptly, striding towards the fire in a bid to thaw her stiff and frozen limbs. Wearily, she sank to the carpet, grateful for the soft rug laid out thoughtfully before the heat of the fire. In stubborn silence, she set to removing her boots and peeling off her socks, to warm her chilled feet.

It seemed she had won, at his decision to approach her side.

Steadily, he lowered himself to the carpet beside her, stretching out awkward long limbs before him. Considering the heat and her distinct discomfort, he removed his long overcoat, tentatively draping it over her small shivering form. That gentility was somewhat familiar coming from him, and it soothed her a little.

"Thank you," her teeth clattered together as she forced out her words, clutching tightly at the edges of the coat, tugging it tight to preserve what little body heat she retained.

"I think I'm beginning to understand," He told her, leaning upon his palm. "About this whole parallel timelines business."

She couldn't help it; her laughter sounded odd though, coming through chattering teeth and a clenched jaw. "I'm not sure I feel the same," She admitted, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"Perhaps it would be better if Lucrecia explained that sort of thing to you," His hand found the back of his head. "It's harder to explain out loud."

"I… I can't do this. I.. I c-an't…" She sank slowly to the carpet, clutching herself tightly. "I can't go on like this, never knowing what I should or shouldn't know. You should have been locked in the basement by now, and Lucrecia… she… she should be dead."

"Tifa!"

"Well it's true! That's what should have happened. But it didn't, because- "

"Because we listened to you." He spoke softly, ignorant of the tears that slid down her cheeks.

"We…"

"Lucrecia and I. We… we realised what Hojo was planning, and we stopped him. Tifa, Hojo is dead. The fire was made to look like an accident, and Lucrecia and I resigned from ShinRa."

"So you two are… together?"

He ducked his chin, dark hair shadowing his face. "I… I don't know."

She had nothing to say that. Inwardly, she wanted to purse her lips and express some form of disapproval. Yet she knew she had no right to do that in the slightest; she had never fully known Vincent and Lucrecia's story. Had there ever been a mutual relationship between the two of them? Or had Vincent simply silently fallen for the scientist? From her beauty, Tifa could partly justify that theory. Well, one thing was for certain; now she would never know what had happened between them. At least now, there was no Hojo forcing them apart. Perhaps they would find happiness together, like Vincent might have wanted.

Only, she wondered why he didn't seem as happy as she might have expected…

"Is that such a bad thing?" She found herself blurting out, the snap-crackle of popping embers punctuating her question.

"Well… It's not so simple,"

Her laugh escaped through her nose. You take away the problem, and another settles in its place. "Why not? You always spoke so highly of her. You were… infatuated." It was almost religious, in a sense. She had always been the one he felt should forgive him for his failures. Tifa had seen him suffering.

"Tifa Just-" His tone was biting, a verbal outlet for some frustration he had no doubt been feeling for some time. "Stop talking about… The other Vincent isn't me. Whatever he felt… it's gone."

She wet her lips, teeth snagging on dry skin. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just… trying to help."

"Don't you see?" He gestured with his hands, shifting around to face her more directly. She worried her bottom lip under his scrutiny. "Whatever was, or what would have been has no relevance now. The timeline has shifted. Everything that happens now is unwritten, new and unchangeable."

A dull throb started in her chest, a primal beat thudding at her ears as an unfounded bitter anger rose within her. "So what you're saying is I've done my part now? I've saved your humanity, I've—hell I've stopped your girlfriend, the love of your wretched life from killing herself with her own experiment— and you tell me to _shut up_?"

His mouth was partly open, gaze lowered to the floor, picking out patterns in the rug.

"I see my work here is done," She articulated sourly, rising to her feet on shaking limbs. His heavy coat fell away from her shoulders to the carpet, left to lie as she stepped over it and back towards the door.

"Tifa, where are you going?" Mild panic drove him to follow her, stalling as she whirled around to face him.

"I don't know. All I know is, I'm not needed here." The blood continued to pound in her ears, her vision swimming oh so slightly—perhaps she had tried to stand too quickly?

"Tifa…"

"What?!"

"You're… It's happening." He was stood a metre or so away from her, body half-angled toward the fire. The half of his face was lit warm, kissed by the firelight. The part turned toward her was reflecting back a green glow.

She raised her hands before her face, aghast, watching the tiny tendrils of light swirl and encapsulate her wrist, then each of her fingers in turn. Her ears began to ring, the view of the room becoming hazy and distorted.

_No, not again…_

_What are you doing?_

_I will explain later. Just get ready._

All lights begin to amalgamate, sound distorting beyond understanding, before she feels a white-hot pain in her neck. The room rushes back to her in one rapid burst of breath, before the floor rises to meet her. Then there is nothing but darkness.

-0-

_I know it has been a while, and I have been meaning to update, really I have. It's just kind of been difficult to link up the segments together to form some sort of coherent chapter! Well here it is, forgive any mistakes, and as always feel free to leave me a review! _


	6. Chapter 5 Shifting Shapes

-0-

_If this ever goes the wrong way_

_Save me from the 'where are they now'_

_If they ever figure out_

_Let these chains be ashes…._

_I'm inside the blackest light_

_The outside is mine tonight._

Richard Walters, Escape Artist.

**Chapter 5: Shifting shapes**

Everything seemed to be moving. Not just around her, but inside her as well. Lights danced behind eyelids screwed tight shut, and the very air seemed thick like water, undulating around her in gentle eddies and waves.

When she opened her eyes, everything was blurred, shapes and light distorted into one continuous blue space… reminding her that she was in fact submerged under water. The plastic rim of the oxygen mask dug rather irritatingly into her cheek, her hand drifting up slowly to try to relieve it. Her skin was pale and ghostly in the water.

_You need to calm down Tifa. Your vitals are dancing about a little._

The voice, as well as the odd shifting white or black shape outside of the tank was her only reminder that she wasn't alone. It unnerved her a little that they could most likely see her perfectly from out there. Her heart rate was most definitely spiking now, if it hadn't been before.

_I promise it won't be for much longer._ The dark shape was there, moving closer to the glass. A firmer outline came into view, not half a meter away, and yet they were separated by glass several inches thick. Under water, the tears were invisible; only erratic bursts of bubbles as she sobbed within her watery prison gave her distress away.

_You can't cry. Water might get into your mask, or you might…_ He paused_. Lucrecia will give you a sedative to calm you down. You need to stay strong, Tifa. _

A few moments later and the sedative kicked in. She floated lifelessly, saline tears diluted a million fold in her water-filled prison.

-0-

Vincent sighed heavily, watching with difficulty as her figure slumped a little more. She was held semi-upright by a waist support, her limp wrists drifting at the level of her abdomen, tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid floated eerily about her face in wake of the constant stream of air bubbles from her mask.

"It's difficult to see her like this, I know." Lucrecia's heels clicks came to a stop beside him. He glanced across to see her squinting through her glasses at her clipboard. "She may be a little claustrophobic…" Her biro tip whizzed across the paper as she spoke.

"I don't think that would explain her initial distaste for the idea, do you?"

The scientist's lips pursed, though she said no more. Tifa's revelations concerning Vincent's supposed past/future involving Lucrecia and her laboratory had been difficult to process for them both. She had been incredulous to learn of what she had the potential to do, if she set her to it, and Vincent had always kept it in the back of his mind.

They both knew he would never fully trust her.

"This was the only way, and you know it, Vincent." Lucrecia sighed, reaching up to deposit her biro through her messy hair bun before rubbing at the spot where her glasses dug into her nose. "If we don't keep her stable, she'll just vanish. And we can't find out how to help her."

"—If there's any way to help her at all…" He leaned forward against a disused terminal, staring with unseeing eyes at the various textbooks that littered its surface. "You know, even now, two years since the day I saw her I… I can't believe it is all true. By now I should be locked in a basement and you—"

"-Should be dead, I know."

The gentle h um of the equipment in the laboratory provided a blanket over the silence for a moment.

"I still can't picture it happening." He shakes his head slowly, running a hand over his face, rough palms catching on the stubble there.

He'd been down in the dingy depths of the lab for days solid, barely eating, his staple diet being coffee and microwave pasta. He only remembered to eat that, because Lucrecia reminded him. All his waking hours, which vastly outnumbered those he spent asleep, were spent running simulations and keeping an eye on the computers. His programming skills had been refined over the last few years, helping out here and there where he could, but they couldn't hold a candle to Lucrecia's. Still, he felt he had to keep an eye on the scanners and various pieces of equipment that measured and displayed Tifa's vital signs, running algorithms on data… More than once he had woken in the perpetual eerie blue glow of the lab with the impression of a keyboard indented into his cheek.

He just couldn't lose her again. In and out she had sporadically appeared over the five year period since they had met. It had taken him that long to accept the truth and realise that he had to try to find a solution- or at least a means by which to reach one. Lucrecia was the only one who knew beside himself, and she was the only one with the know-how to help. That trust had taken a while to build up, considering how warily he regarded her for so long.

It took him until Hojo's 'disposal' as they called it to realise she was on his side. Together, in those tentative couple of years after first contact with Tifa, they found research material alluding to S-cells and the super being known as Jenova. They had uncovered evidence to suggest that he intended to start breeding super humans in this project, injecting a pregnant mother with cells—just like Tifa had warned. Hojo's predictions and hopes for the project were ambitious to say the least, yet he was unerring in his approach. It seemed Lucrecia made a good genetic match for the experiment, and it took all of her conviction to act unfazed at his attempts to woo her. He was clearly intent on creating suitable embryos the natural way—a notion which made Vincent's skin crawl.

With foresight provided by fragments of information Tifa had mentioned, they were able to conclude that to allow these experiments to happen would be nothing short of premeditating genocide.

Then there was the strange kind tension between himself and Lucrecia. Tifa had of course warned him of his alternate fate at the hands of Hojo and Lucrecia. She told him how he had been obsessed, how his failing to make her see sense had developed into a self-hatred so strong, it had destroyed him.

He guessed that they were out of the danger zone at least, yet he was always aware of the possibility and preceding implications of any attraction. Tifa's revelations must also have made an impression on Lucrecia, too; she was careful what she did around him, conscious of how she dressed.

Yet despite the care they had both taken, and their awareness of each other, there was still something hanging over them; a burning curiosity. All it had taken was one night alone, when Tifa was some other place in time and not on his mind for once, and an accidental overstepping of personal space and they were kissing. They had stumbled back, finding the edge of a table with fumbling hands before she was hoisted up, skirt hitched up to her waist. Trembling fingers battled with buttons and zippers, and all that tension and frustration was rather suddenly dissipated.

That had been several months ago. They had since avoided the topic entirely, and he had to admit that the curiosity was somewhat gone. The sex was just a means to an end. They needed it. Two adults working in relative isolation, with only each other for company… tensions tended to run high, and considering the both of them weren't necessarily experts in communication, he viewed the outcome as being inevitable.

He grunted, slouching back in his desk chair and running a hand over his rough jaw. His eyes were beginning to tire from staring for long hours at reams of data on a screen.

He needed sleep, and a shower at the very least.

-0-

On one of the rare days he had actually left the laboratory, he had returned to find her gone. The machines that usually blipped and beeped to measure her vitals were droning out flat readings, and the oxygen mask was bubbling gently within the empty tank. He had broken several racks of test tubes as an outlet—hadn't the damn point of the tank, weeks of testing and the sedatives been to try to keep her here, to try to figure out how to stop her disappearances from happening? All they had was the data obtained in the moments prior to her disappearance, and although Lucrecia told him it was very useful data, he couldn't help but be pissed off. He hated having no control whatsoever over the situation.

His days between her intermittent presences became blurs of time- days seemed to pass and meld into one grey haze. Until she returned, and everything would suddenly burst into beautiful chromatic clarity. Order was restored out of the chaos. He had comer to wonder what it meant, that his normalcy seemed to rely on the presence of a stranger, hiccoughing through time to burst intermittently into his existence.

-0-

Her sudden burst into existence in another time disturbs layers of dusts that she inadvertently sucks into her lungs. They respond with spasmodic coughing and spluttering, a sound that reverberated loudly in the now deserted laboratory. Through streaming eyes, she takes in her surroundings, eager for her coughing to stop. She knew what could lurk here in this mansion, and from what she could see, she could well have returned to her own timeline—she had not lingered down here long, then, but the same air of neglect and eeriness pervaded from each alien object and shadowy corner.

She is standing in what must have been the very same tank, which had not moments ago contained her within it. Now, it was but a husk, dust-covered fragments of glass clinging pathetically to its steel skeleton. She wondered what kind of force had managed to break it. The glass chucks scattered around the lab resembled broken ice, yet she dared not tread further lest she cut her bare feet.

A background hum, along with the chill in the air told of a draft coming in- perhaps the door that leads down into this godforsaken laboratory was open? A strange, pale light emanated from somewhere as well, suffusing the dust riddled air with pale amber light. She picks across the rubble and glass carefully, searching for the source- a discarded flare! Industrial or no, they could only last a day or so. Someone must have been here recently.

A loud clank from the passage way beyond the laboratory doors sets her heart racing, goosebumps rising all over her body. What chance did she have to defend herself in this state? "Who's there?" She finds herself calling out into the silence, her voice wavering in spite of her attempts to fill it with assertion.

Footsteps sound at her call, and the door is pushed open. A torch beam bursts through the gloom, though the user does not point it at her directly. Still, she shields her eyes, not quite used to the brightness.

"Tifa—It's me."

Of course, it had to be. She couldn't quite make him out yet, his form hidden behind the intrusive sphere of the torch-glare. "We should get you out of here. It's not safe."

The torch is switched off, and they are plunged back into the dull orange glow of the dying flare. He picks it up from its position lying on a disused work bench, striding across the rubble-strewn floor towards her. She can't quite make him out yet, the flare's light distorting his features into shadow. The flare placed into her hands, he mutters an apology before bending slightly to scoop her into his arms. She notes how clean he smells, and how broad his back feels against her forearm.

They sidle through the laboratory entrance and make their way silently through the leaky passageway, traversing the spiral staircase with only minor difficulty. At the top of the stairs, he exits the room and makes light work of the sweeping stairs that adorn the grand entrance to the mansion. Still, her eyes battle to adjust to the shifting light. He is moving fast, apparently in a hurry to get her outside.

He shoves the front door wide with one shoulder, and they exit into broad daylight. The air temperature is pleasantly warm.

"I am setting you down."

She murmurs her assent, feeling soft grass beneath her feet as she is set upright. She closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation of a warm breeze tugging at her hair while listening to the birds singing as they flitted to and fro above her. For a moment, she forgets.

She opens her eyes to look at him for the first time; he is standing a few paces away to her right, tapping at the screen of a PHS.

He is wearing suit pants of slate grey, and a pale blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the collar loose. His hair is still short, gunmetal grey fading at points near his temples and ears to the colour of mercury. She couldn't put a number on him- maybe forty, yet he had proven himself to be in perfect physical shape.

He only glanced up briefly on noting her close inspection, before pocketing the device and turning on his heel. "We should get moving."

"But where are we going?"

He didn't answer, instead striding across the pathway, now long overtaken by meadow grass, and slipping through the gate, rusted open. She watches him, wondering if she were meant to follow him. At his pause and half turn, she scurries after him, the grass cool and still dew-damp beneath her bare feet. There is a car parked outside the gates, previously obscured by ivy growing over the crumbling stone walls.

He opens the door for her without looking, irises dispassionately scanning the town square before them. Feeling more and more as though she were inconveniencing him, she slips into the passenger seat, nostrils assaulted by the scent of clean leather. He takes the driver's seat silently, starting the engine and rolling the car out of town, towards the mountains. She wonders if the road has improved any.

"I get the feeling I have done something to upset you." She blurts out after a uncomfortable period of heavy silence. He exhales deeply through his nose, though she notes that he does look a little apologetic.

"I… I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. We need to get you to Wutai, and then we can talk more. I promise."

"Wutai?!" She half turns in her seat, bare thighs clinging to the leather seats.

"I would advise that you get some sleep. It's going to be a long journey. There are some sedatives in the glove box, and some water."

He was staring hard at the road, so perhaps he couldn't see her scowl aimed in his direction. Figuring she would rather sleep than sit in strained silence, she popped the pills in her mouth and swallowed them down, turning away from him to lean against the window. She was asleep within fifteen minutes, so she didn't see his knuckles release their iron grip from the steering wheel, nor hear his loaded sigh.

-0-

She remembers only vaguely being wrapped in something soft and lifted from the car. It had all gone dark, but she could hear the soft whir of propellers.

"We are taking the airship to Wutai. We won't reach the dock until the early hours."

She was lying on a bunk in a metal cabin, and Vincent seemed to be talking to someone on his PHS. The ship's engines were roaring into life. She slipped out of consciousness again, lulled to sleep by the background whir of the ship's propellers and creaking metal. She dreamed of the Highwind, and a figure in black and crimson, stood alone on the deck.

-0-

She was awake, but still feeling the side-effects of the sedatives when they finally reached the airship dock in Wutai. She'd never seen a dock in Wutai before; perhaps a question she could ask Vincent later on…

…he didn't seem open to talking, even sat so close as they took a rickshaw across town. The little craft bore them over the vermillion bridges, through the deserted market, bare of their usual wares and bustling Wutaiin folk, and up into the hills where she knew the more affluent houses to be.

They came to a stop at a set of gates, flanked by towering stone dragons. As he helped her down from the rickshaw, thanking the driver in fluent Wutaiin, she realised that she was wearing his suit jacket.

They are greeted beyond the gates by a petite maid in kimono who escorted them into the house, built entirely of paper screens. She knelt at each door to admit them through.

They are finally admitted into a large room in which two futons were laid out. It is bare save for the rich reed mats that adorn the floor. She can hear the babble of water flowing over pebbles beyond the screens, and the shadows of flowers dancing in the breeze are cast upon the mats by the moonlight.

As the door slides shut, she wonders if he has been waiting to get here to finally speak to her. Instead though, He seems intent on his PHS, knelt by one of the futons.

"Is this how it's going to be?" She breaths, lungs burning with the effort to hold in the tumult she was experiencing. "I fall in and out of time, never knowing when or where I am?" the tingle of pain along her scalp as she tugs at her hair causes the gentle ring in her ears to abate. She pulls harder, letting out a slow breath as she sinks to her knees on the matting.

A tremor crosses his brow, lips pulled into a thin line at her words.

"You can stop taking care of me, if it makes you so unhappy. I will just have to do what I have always done, in this timeline as well as any other; Take care of myself."

"You don't make me unhappy." His voice was low and controlled, claret irises focuses on the woven mats on the floor. Strong fingers suddenly started to twitch, and he seemed totally at war with himself. She had never seen him like this, in any of his forms.

"I don't know what obligation you have to me, Vincent, but you don't have to do this! I don't know why you feel you have to protect me, why you are always there whenever I jump."

He raised himself up on his knees, leaning towards her. Before she knew it, cool fingers slid to the back of her neck, setting the hairs on end, soft lips meeting hers gently. She could only blink several times in rapid succession, her heart thumping wildly against her ribcage. As his body heat drew nearer, she felt her stomach swoop, lights danced behind her lids when she closed them.

The background music of the waterfall in the garden beyond the paper screens faded, replaced by all-consuming silence. Existence narrowed to a singular point, a finite clarity; his lips against hers, his palm against her back…

Light shifted, a thousand sunrises and sunsets retrogressing in a compressed particle of time. In the space of one breath, she can feel time contract, his body gone and yet his taste lingered on her lips.

It looks like dawn, or it could be sunset. The screen doors are open, and a raging glow bursts through, setting her eyes alight. A shadow gives her some reprieve, intercepting the fiery glow of the dying sun.

He is younger, perhaps not long after their first meeting. He doesn't seem surprised to see her there, kneeling in the centre of the room, wearing a man's suit jacket over her clinical gown, tears staining her cheeks. To him, they could be liquid ruby, refracting the atmosphere outside.

She stumbled to her feet, battling a sudden inertia, fingertips tingling still from her time-jump.

"Tifa, you need to try and calm down. Cortisol levels as well as adrenalin causes you to jump." His eyes were a little wider. The sudden movement seemed to turn on radio static in her head. Everything was going fuzzy…

"What?"

"Stress and elevated heart rate induces your jumps. I can give you a sedative if you like?"

"Please, I… I don't want to jump anymore…" He catches her about the waist before she stumbles, removing a syringe from his pocket with his spare hand. Lowering her gently to the floor, he ensures she is still before inserting the needle's point into the vein at her wrist. The sedative takes effect immediately, and her breathing starts to regulate, becoming deep and slow.

"Does it really take you that long to tell me?"

He frowns, ruby irises hidden behind dark lashes. "I don't understand."

She only smiles placidly, reaching trembling fingertips up to touch his hair. She looks at it wonderingly, perhaps as if it is new to her. He finds himself wondering when she has come from, and what she saw there. Parts of Lucrecia's theories spiralled around in his head, forbidding him to both share and learn things about the future, whether it be his or hers, in case he disrupts the timeline. It was all such bullshit. It made his head hurt to think of it all.

Novikov self-consistency theory, the Grandfather paradox….

"That makes two of us, then."

All he knew was he had travelled half the way across the world just to see her again. All the anguish he had felt following her disappearance from the tank, all of the anger directed at Lucrecia because the experiments hadn't helped to keep her in one time, had all but vanished, forgotten and replaced instead by something much more lasting. Contentment.

This was where he needed to be.

_I'll protect you from the hooded claw/keep the vampires from your door_

_When the chips are down I'll be around/With my undying, death defying love for you_

…_Love is like an energy/rushing inside of me._

The Power of Love (Gabrielle Aplin version)

-0-


	7. Chapter 6 Back When

**It's been a long time since I posted, but I kind of lost the thread a bit. I hope you can forgive me. I had written the first part of the chapter a long time ago, and I was reasonably pleased to stumble across it again. Please review if you want more updates! JJ x**

**Chapter 6: Back When**

Vincent adjusted the neck of his cape, a means to busy himself as he hesitated by the gates of the mansion. He scowled up at the menacing building, wondering what had seized Tifa to think she could make it appear anything other than what it was; a fearful relic of times past.

She was certainly braver than he was, lurking by the entrance and reflecting back upon his unfortunate transgressions, from decades before.

Bricks and mortar. It almost became a mantra, though what little good it did.

Steeling himself, he marched toward the front door, raising his metal arm to thump against the wood in announcement of his arrival. The contact pushed the door open an iota, the hinges creaking dully—had she left the door open? He frowned. It was almost nightfall, and quite cool.

He waited, leaning close to the narrow crack, listening for any sound from within the house that would indicate Tifa had heard his herald at the door, and was coming to answer. Perhaps she was elbow deep in hot soaping water, cursing to herself at that very moment while he fretted on the doorstep.

Surely he knew Tifa enough that he could step inside, even if to wait within the entranceway for her?

He made it his business _not_ to know anyone in Avalanche enough, Chaos snidely remarked in his head. What made him think he was welcome in anyone's home? A good question, he acceded. He had felt some sort of compulsion to call in, during one of his circuitous routes of the continent, travelling from place to place hunting monsters and collecting bounties; Honour-bound to check upon his comrades, even if only in the form of peering in their windows and checking that all was well, never leaving the shadows.

Tifa was certainly no exception to this; he would make a personal enquiry on this occasion, though whether for his sake or hers, he wouldn't admit even to himself.

Time stretched—perhaps she couldn't hear him from wherever she was in the house. Should he come back later perhaps, tomorrow? Well, he should at least close the door…

Leaning forwards ever so slightly, he caught sight of something glinting in the slither of light from the dying sun. Broken glass?

He pushed the door wide, the heavy wood resisting as though it wished to hide the secrets within it from him.

The door stood open, revealing a carnage of shattered metal and green glass fragments glittered innocently in the glare from outside. One stride, two and he was kneeling over the mess, close enough now to spot droplets of blood—a space where a figure had been, had fallen and landed and…

Trained eyes scanned the surroundings, for a missing clue, for some indication that she hadn't simply…

"Vanished…" He muttered, fingertips of his flesh hand plucking one of the larger glass fragments from its resting place and raising it to eye level. Was that… materia? He could smell faint traces of mako on the air. The tiny spattering of blood told him that this incident had taken place at least a couple of days ago.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

He waited in silence by the entranceway, the fragment of materia clutched tight in his palm. The sharp edges cut into the flesh, though he barely noticed, even as blood dripped onto the stone by his boots.

He had called Cloud and the others, for lack of ideas of what to do. At best, the earliest anyone could be there was hours from now, approaching dawn. He knew he should look around some more, though the mansion was harrowing enough without the darkness and the prospect that it had claimed one person already ruined his nerve.

His palm began to sting, and his hissed, raising the cut to his lips and sucking the blood away. The glass fell, tinkling innocently to the ground. His palm and now his tongue tingled, and glancing down where the glass lay, he noted it glowed faintly.

Materia had broken apart. And Tifa had disappeared into thin air.

There was a gaping hole in the chain of events that led to this point, and he felt the pull of the urge to understand. With a resolute breath, he strode into the mansion and down into the dank and dark of the library. If there were answers, he would find them here.

-0-

Vincent's flesh rose in goosebumps and simultaneously started to sweat, his sympathetic nervous system kicked into action, stimulated by the terrible memories and experiences associated with this small segment of hell on Gaia. It seemed to take an age to cross that dank and awful corridor, past the room that had been his prison for decades, and into that accursed laboratory.

The scent of mildew prevailed. Underneath it nestled biting sharpness of acid compounds, and the cloying must of rotting wood: So far from the order and meticulous tidiness that accompanied a collection of scientific, if not maniacal minds.

Yet something seemed amiss to him, even in spite of all of this. The place had always elicited a strange feeling within him. He recalled the first moment he had stepped inside the entrance hall – in good repair and all it's grandeur, there was _something_ about that room that had unsettled him. As though something was there that should not have been. The moment was fleeting and it passed, but he never forgot it. A lifetime's experiences could not compare to the strangeness of that moment.

He felt it here again now, in the lab.

His mind began to work through the evidence, circumstantial and inferred alike.

Textbooks had been stripped from the shelves and stacked haphazardly one on top of the other – the reader, Sephiroth, had paced here for days, pouring over the pages, horrified by what they told him.

He noted the air in here was relatively dry after all this time. The place would burn easily. He resisted the urge, the materia in his gauntlet humming in response to his thoughts.

What knowledge could be gleaned from these tomes? The question, Vincent corrected himself, should be what knowledge should be erased from existence for the protection of all…

-0-

Tifa stirred from her sedative induced slumber somewhere in the twilight—was it dawn or dusk? Her body seemed to struggle with her desire to move, limbs weighted by sleep and disuse, the space in her head fuzzy as if stuffed with cotton wool. She raised a sweaty palm to her feverish forehead.

She was alone, dressed in a long silk robe tied at the waist with a sash, her hair loose and soft, as if it had been combed out.

Bird song – she listened to it carefully. She recognised the call of the Lark. It was dawn then.

She remained still for a time, ears attuning to her environment. She settled on the fact that she was in Wutai, still, sometime shortly after she had been pulled from the tank by Vincent – A Vincent from the future who somehow knew to bring her here so his past self would find her.

She rubbed at her temples. It was all such bullshit! She wanted to laugh, really she did. This had to be a fucked up dream. Gods she was going to love telling Cid and the guys about this over a beer back at the bar… Time travel, Vincent in love with her… It had to be a dream.

Except she had sold the bar. She had bought the ShinRa mansion. And if she was asleep or in a coma for that matter, her corporeal form was in fact lying on the mansion floor.

She wondered if someone had found her, or had noticed she was missing? Her skin erupts in strange goosebumps at the thought, a sensation akin o walking through a sheet of ice. Somehow she knew that someone had noticed her missing.

She exhaled shakily, tears flowing along the curve of her cheekbones. She was trapped from that life now. She would never see her friends again, as she knew them.

She had never felt so alone.

-0-

_Give me these moments back.  
>Give them back to me.<br>Give me that little kiss.  
>Give me your hand. <em>

-Kate Bush, This Woman's Work


	8. Chapter 7 Windows

**7.** **Windows**

When Cid arrived it was to find Vincent leaning in the doorway – the front entrance to that fucking shit scary mansion – casually, as if nothing had fucking happened. "What the shit, Valentine?" Cid growled, customary cigarette pinched in his lips at one side of his mouth. He scratched at his stubble, a habit Vincent had observed he indulged in when he felt uncomfortable or worried.

"I am glad you are here, Cid." Vincent unfolded his arms and took a step away from the door and into the daylight.

"Hell, you look like shit..." It was true- it seemed inconceivable for Vincent to look paler, but then Cid could now safety state it within the bounds of possibility. The gunman's stoic exterior, whether carefully maintained or passive seemed to have fallen away entirely. He looked afraid.

"Tifa has vanished." He said.

"Vanished? The fuck is that supposed to mean? She's missing?"

"No. She is…" He cast a glance back into the gloom of the entrance hall. "She is no longer within our grasp."

"Are you going to explain what the fuck you are talking about?" The pilot was raising his voice to mask the fear he didn't want to voice out loud.

"I... I can try."

Cid followed Vincent inside the building, unable to suppress a shudder as he did so. The place was cold and reeked of age. "The fuck Tifa want to do with this place anyway…" He grumbled, more to himself that Vincent, batting away cobwebs that threatened to block his path. He fucking hated cobwebs.

"Tifa had a natural predisposition to fix things… things that are way past redemption." Vincent sighed and shook his head.

"Chuh. So you're saying she gave up on Cloud after fuck knows how many years and this was her next pet project?! Jesus, talk about a lost fuckin' cause…"

"Eloquently put." The sarcasm almost managed to lighten the mood.

Vincent stopped beside the spot he had identified upon his arrival. Cid cursed beautifully at the blood specked glass shards. "The shit happened here…"

"Ghirofelgo." Vincent pointed with a gauntleted finger towards a long length of chain coiled inconspicuously in the shadows. "He was finished off by the blast."

"Blast?" The pilot squinted about in the gloom. "The fuck you get that from?"

"The glass shards – materia fragments. Can you see how they are arranged?" Cid squatted beside the mess, taking his cigarette out of his mouth for the first time since he had arrived.

"I don't fucking like this, Valentine. Materia fragments… I don't know much about materia – hell about a lot of things – but materia just doesn' _explode_!"

"There have been very few recorded incidents of this kind," Vincent corrected. "Of course dependant on many factors, including the type of materia that was involved, the effects observed differ completely from one incident to the next."

"What materia do you think Tifa was usin'?" The pilot was staring at the ex-Turk now, barely aware that his cigarette was moments away from burning his idle fingers.

"Impossible to say, without seeing her weapon, but I have a theory…" It was evident that his theory did not give him comfort. "Time."

"Time? You mean, Haste, Stop that sort of shit?"

"Exactly." He frowned. "It seems an odd choice of materia to use, I know, and Tifa should have been able to handle a Ghirofelgo with relative ease…"

Vincent trailed off into silence for a moment, and Cid was distracted momentarily by burnt fingers, leaving him to ponder his next words carefully. Straightening up, he crossed over to the windows and tore down the heavy curtains that festered there. A sudden burst of light illuminated furiously dancing dust motes. He squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

The light beams fell upon the once highly-polished wooden floor underfoot. The room had been bright and luxurious, once, and it was on a day much like this one that he had entered this building for the first time. He had been struck by an unusual sensation, Déjà vu yet not quite; a notion that he had taken a step forwards that he could never un-take, a fork taken in a path that he could not undo.

Something had happened then, in that tiny moment in that room, that neither he nor anyone could perceive.

"I believe that the materia shattering created a momentary window between the past and her present… and that she is now is a different time."

"…What the-"

Vincent allowed Cid his second profanity filled tirade, mind reeling.

"We can get her back though, right?"

Vincent considered Cid's words, wanting to believe that he could offer a more consolatory response. "I do not believe it is possible. Tifa has arrived into a world that pre-dates all of the horrors that she lived through and experienced first hand… do you really believe that she would not try to change it for the better?" Vincent sighed. "She is part of a new alternative timeline which runs parallel to our own. I doubt we will ever see her again…"

He couldn't quite explain why this revelation filled him with such melancholy. He turned away from Cid, blinking blindly in the sunlight.

-0-

_Another time and place_

The first thing Vincent had done to the mansion was to fill the entire basement with concrete, right up to that damped drafty false wall, before installing a fireplace. He slept easier at night knowing that godforsaken laboratory was no more.

Then he had restored the piano. It had never worked right; keys were forever getting stuck, the notes never ringing true in spite of various attempts to tune it. He replaced all of the keys and the strings before he sat down at that rickety stool to play.

It had been a long time, but the old melodies came back to forgetful fingers in the moonlight.

He always kept a stack of blank music paper nearby, as in times of frustration or sleeplessness (more often than not, of late) he would take to composing. Between sittings, he would notice that sometimes new notes had appeared, or corrections had been made to his unfinished symphony.

He would play through the corrected sequences, the music now so much sweeter to his ears, wondering where in time she had vaulted to and which version of himself kept her company.

-0-


End file.
